


A Mother's Intuition

by enthusio



Series: Coming of Age [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-27 01:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18294236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusio/pseuds/enthusio
Summary: Euphemia has learnt to trust her instincts, especially when it comes to her only son.Set during Chapters 2 through 10 of Coming of Age.  Makes zero sense out of context.





	1. Summer 1971

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently a bit stuck on where I want to go next with the main story, but I've been wanting to put in more of Euphemia's perspective for a while. It just doesn't quite fit anywhere within the main fic so I've had to make it separate.

Euphemia looked down at the list of candidates, wishing there was some better way to make this decision.  The last governess had been a disaster, no matter that she’d come highly recommended.  Miss McCallister had a sister who was also a governess, but she hadn’t seemed quite right.  Not for any particular reason, really, it was simply an instinct Euphemia had learnt to trust over the years.

If only Rosemary were a witch.  It was a simple task to select a governess or tutor for a young witch or wizard, a quick pinprick and wand flick to test for magical and personal compatibility.  It had taken all of a minute to find that two of Phineas’ daughters were perfect.  Knowledgeable in the Potter traditions, from a good family even if Phineas had been disowned for refusing to follow the more brutal of the Black traditions, and they doted on Sarah and Wendy as much as any devoted aunt.

Of course, if Rosemary were a witch she wouldn’t have been given to James in the first place.  Sighing, Euphemia called for Hatty.  She’d spent a week with the girl, surely she’d have some idea of who might be suitable.

\--------

“Hatty,” Euphemia ignored the way the elf flinched at her tone, “this is the third list I have made.  Surely _one_ of them must have a suitable governess.”

She watched as Hatty took a breath before drawing herself up, exactly as she had before rejecting every governess on the previous two lists.

“No Mistress, Hatty is being sorry, but those governesses is not being right for Master James’ Rosemary.”

It took nearly everything in Euphemia to keep from throwing up her hands as she had when frustrated as a little girl. “Very well,” she said, clenching her hands where they lay in her lap just slightly, “who do you suggest?”

Artemis Selwyn had been one of the last people Euphemia was expecting.  For one thing, she had forgotten the Selwyns had a squib daughter.  For another, _Lady_ Artemis Selwyn (as she should properly be called, if her family hadn’t held to older traditions than Euphemia approved of) was a pureblood.  Sacred Twenty-Eight and titled, at that.

She had been sure Fleamont would say it was far too much of an expense for a simple muggle coming of age gift.  A companion for Sarah or Wendy, yes.  In that case the girl would have the best magical and muggle upbringing available and the Selwyns were by far the best available of the patriarchal lines.  For a muggle girl who would likely go back to her own world before she was fifteen, however, there really was no need for more than a muggle education.

Except that Fleamont had agreed without hesitation.  Had insisted upon it, in fact, when he heard that Hatty had declared all other options unsuitable.  And so Rosemary was given a Selwyn governess — with instructions to ensure she was given a full muggle and magical education, as Euphemia could not imagine any other reason to have chosen a Selwyn over any of the other options.


	2. Spring 1972

“Really Mia, you can’t imagine James would be happy with a witch from another House.”

Euphemia sipped her tea as she held back a sigh.  Fatima was one of her dearest friends, but perhaps she should have invited over someone who hadn’t married a Weasley.

“You know of the Potter tendency to die young,” she said. “I simply wish for my son to live past his thirties.  I know better than anyone how unlikely that is if James does not marry a witch who can at least put aside her Gryffindor instincts.”

“He is still a boy.”  Fatima dismissed Euphemia’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “He has found himself attracted to a pretty muggleborn who wants nothing to do with him and fancies himself in love.  If my grandsons are anything to go by, nearly every boy in Gryffindor feels the same way.”

“I would better be able to believe that if James had any interest in the other girls in his year.”

It was true.  Euphemia was well aware that attraction in boys James’ age was more likely to be a passing interest than anything else.  She was also aware that the Potter romanticism often combined with their stubbornness to make them almost incapable of seeing past their early infatuations.

“Is there really no one else?” Fatima asked. “He’s friends with the Prince heiress, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but he is uninterested in her as anything more.”  Euphemia held back another sigh. “It is too bad, she must be at least a little Slytherin underneath her Sorting.  All Princes are.”

“Two Gryffindors from traditionally Slytherin families in a row is too much to ask for anyway.  You’d be better to hope for a Ravenclaw.”

Euphemia grimaced delicately. “Too fanciful,” she said, “the last thing James needs is a daydreamer to encourage his visions of being a gallant knight in a world where dragons live only on preserves.  I am sorry Fatima, but you know that more of your housemates are airy than practical.”

“Hufflepuff then?”  Fatima didn’t argue Euphemia’s point. “Grounded and loyal, though I don’t think you’d want a Gryffindor from a Hufflepuff family.”

That was likely her best hope.  She wasn’t optimistic enough to believe James would ever accept a Slytherin.  Euphemia only wished that James would decide on a witch who wasn’t a consummate Gryffindor.  She loved her House, but it hadn’t taken much reading for her to realise that the longest lived Potter heirs were those who married outside it.

“Mia,” Fatima’s voice was hesitant, “have you considered perhaps taking away his girl?  Not permanently, only long enough for him to think of inviting over one of the witches he knows.”

Euphemia shook her head, remembering how depressed James had been when Fleamont had taken the girl away during summer. “Fleamont and I have agreed that is not an option,” she said. “James’ attachment to the girl is too strong.”

“Which is exactly why you should separate them for a time.  I’ve raised six boys, Mia,” Euphemia hated when Fatima brought that up, for all that it was usually the reason she invited her, “trust me when I say that it’s sometimes better to allow them to hurt a little so that they aren’t hurt more when they’re grown.  Unless you want James to have to go abroad for a wife because he waited too long to find one at school.”

Euphemia nearly told Fatima what she suspected then.  The feeling she was beginning to get, for no reason she could find, that James’ lack of interest in the girls at Hogwarts and his unusual attachment to his girl here at Linfred were related.  But Fatima was a Shafiq married to a Weasley and both families still followed the older tradition of giving boys girls only long enough for them to learn before going to school.  Euphemia already knew what her response would be.


	3. Summer 1972

The report from Lady Selwyn was as expected.  Short, to the point, respectful.  A year ago it had been more than sufficient.  Now Euphemia rose from her desk and made her way to Lady Selwyn’s rooms in the nursery of the Heir Wing.

“What is your opinion?” she asked, once the pleasantries had been dispensed with.  What, exactly, she was referring to even she wasn’t entirely sure.  James.  Rosemary.  The pair of them.  Everything.  She had her suspicions, but James was so young.  It hardly seemed worth considering.

Lady Selwyn did consider it.  At length, hesitating for so long Euphemia began to wonder if she would receive an answer.

“Lord Stinchcombe is young,” she said, finally, “as is Rosemary.  I think he is confused, in fact I told Rosemary as much.  More than that and you would have a better idea than I.  I really don’t know him other than the stories Rosemary tells.”

“And of her?”

More hesitation, though this time it appeared more apprehensive than thoughtful.  There was really only one reason a pureblood governess would hesitate so much when discussing her muggle charge.  Euphemia shook her head, allowing Lady Selwyn to leave the question unanswered.

“I would like to be kept up to date on her progress,” she said instead, “emotional as well as academic.  A report every week should suffice.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Lady Selwyn nodded.

For just the slightest moment Euphemia considered adding to Rosemary’s magical education.  There were books, books that were included in Sarah and Wendy’s education, but not Rosemary’s.  Books that were considered wasted on muggle girls, even those raised as companions to witches.

But James was young.  So very young, for all that he seemed to have grown exponentially more mature even only counting summer.  She put the thought aside, at least for now.


	4. Winter 1972

Once again Euphemia found herself surprised by a house elf.  Hatty, specifically.

“A Lady’s elf?  Is that really necessary?”

It shouldn’t be.  Her brothers’ girls had certainly never had more than a nanny elf to oversee them, even when they were well past the age when they’d have come of age if they were witches.

“Oh yes, Mistress Potter,” Hatty’s ears flopped against her face as she nodded, “Master James’ Rosemary is needing a Lady’s elf to be helping her with ladies’ things.  Master James’ Rosemary is being eleven in summer, she is being too big for Hatty soon.”

Euphemia considered asking Fleamont before remembering what he’d said about Lady Selwyn.  If Hatty believed something was necessary then it was necessary, even if it made no sense to them.  The elves understood the family magic and what was needed to keep Linfred running better than any of them.

Rosemary would get her Lady’s elf.  The same way she had Lady Selwyn.  And later, when Euphemia found out about the Potter heirlooms, she couldn’t help but wonder if they had been Hatty’s doing as well.


	5. Spring 1973

Potters were blind.  Completely and utterly blind.  And Euphemia had been married into the family so long that it had started to affect her as well.

Really, she should have listened to her instincts long before now.  Lady Selwyn as a governess.  James’ intense need to protect, much the same way Fleamont had always been toward her (no matter that it drove her mad).  The complete lack of interest in witches at school.  Special lessons and gifts and attempts to ensure she knew at least a little of where she came from.  Potter heirlooms and now an Abraxan-Friesian cross of the type only Potters ever rode.

And Tessie.  Not just any Lady’s elf, _Tessie_ , who had been trained to be the personal elf to Jame’s wife nearly from birth.  Who Fleamont had sent off to live with a squib family at Hatty’s request without a thought.  How Potters had existed before they were approached by an elf colony was a mystery.

“He is still young yet,” Fleamont said, when she pointed out the obvious clues. “He will understand in his own time.”

“The way you did?”  Euphemia made no attempt to hide her scepticism.  She’d had to all but have Tertius Weasley in the middle of the common room before Fleamont understood he wanted more than their ‘friendly arrangement.’

Fleamont might be willing to wait until their son had come to his own realisation, but Euphemia was not so patient — nor so optimistic.  She had convinced Terry to play beau after accidentally finding Fleamont with Lycoris Black and the sight had nearly been enough to make her give up on him ever coming to his senses.  If left to his own devices James was likely to do something at least as hurtful.

Making up her mind, Euphemia called for Hatty.  Fleamont was right that James had to come to understand his feelings on his own, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t give him a few hints.  And it was time she met her future daughter-in-law.  She would need to be trained to become Marchioness of Stinchcombe and, eventually, The Duchess of Linfred.  Not all of that training could be given by Lady Selwyn, titled pureblood though she may be.

It took more effort than she expected to restrain herself to a smile when she saw James and Rosemary sitting at a carefully laid table.  Even more when she realised Rosemary’s dress bore a striking resemblance to the robes of a young witch betrothed to the Potter heir.  She made a note to ask Filius to spend more time working with James on logic and awareness.  There was a point at which the Potter tendency toward being oblivious became too heavy a liability and James had certainly passed it.

Rosemary was a delight.  Lady Selwyn had done a marvellous job with her education, so much that there likely wasn’t a witch better suited to take her place.  Good.  Euphemia drew out the pleasantries, ensuring James had plenty of time to picture Rosemary as she might be if he could begin thinking of her as a girl rather than a muggle.

With a bit of luck, James would avoid the seeming Potter tradition of needing to be shocked into understanding what they wanted.  It shouldn’t take much, he appeared to be halfway there already.  Certainly Fleamont had never considered giving up witches for Charlotte, for all that it was obvious to every witch at Hogwarts they were being compared to her.  James only need a small push.  Just enough to let him see what it would look like to have Rosemary by his side.

And if he didn’t, if he continued to follow in his father’s footsteps, Euphemia might at least be able to mitigate some of the damage with Rosemary.  There was little Euphemia wanted less than to see her son broken the way Fleamont had been after Charlotte left him.


End file.
